


Waterloo

by Lothiriel84



Category: John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme
Genre: I Don't Even Know, London, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 04:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: Love isn't always on time.





	Waterloo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Myx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myx/gifts).



He was standing in the rain, staring at those weird-looking novelty Christmas trees, a cup of mulled wine cooling in his hand. It was getting late, David was nowhere in sight, and to be honest, what had he been expecting? As keen as he might have sounded when Dylan had told him he’d got them tickets for the ABBA exhibition at the Southbank Centre, that was still before the monumental fight they’d had not two weeks ago; and while David had eventually relented, admitting it was water under bridges and all that, it was becoming apparent that he was not forgiven, nor really.

David wasn’t coming, of course he wasn’t; and all of a sudden, he realised he didn’t want to go through with the visit anymore. All that money wasted on tickets, and yet, all he could do was stare dejectedly at those pop art Christmas decorations perched innocently on a fir tree, grinning mockingly back at him.

He took another sip from his cup, mulling over the last conversation they’d had over the phone. David hadn’t sounded particularly cross or anything, not any more than he was on an ordinary day; Dylan clearly recalled him saying he would see him tomorrow, which was now today, and so he’d naturally assumed they would in fact be meeting at the Southbank Centre as planned.

Well, there was nothing for it but to finish his mulled wine, then go get the next train home, he supposed. David might or might not be there, but that was entirely up to him, so there was nothing he could do about it either way.

He traipsed over to the nearest bin, threw the paper cup in, then straightened his coat and headed for the stairs. Just at that moment, a familiar voice made itself heard from across the walkway, and as he turned around he was greeted by the sight of a rather breathless David, still in his work uniform, hurrying up the stairs and towards him.

“I’m terribly sorry, darling – my train was delayed. I hope we’re still on time for the guided tour?”

“I – yes, I think so,” he stammered, caught off guard as David leaned forward to plant a small peck on his cheek. “I’m so glad you came,” he couldn’t help but add, as he let himself being ushered towards the entrance.

“Well, I told you I would, didn’t I? I did try to call you when I realised I was running late, but my phone battery had run out, and there weren’t any plug sockets on the train to charge it.”

“That’s CrossCountry for you.”

“No, it’s not,” David stopped in his tracks, an affronted look on his face. “That’s not the train that got delayed. _I_ was driving it, after all.”

“Of course it’s not,” he laughed, affectionately. “You’re almost always on time, everybody knows that.”

“Yes, well,” David cleared his throat. “Tickets, please?”


End file.
